A few days ago here, I wrote about how a movie seems to become better or worse for us over time, like either milk or wine. What I’ve been wondering about today is how our appraisal of a movie changes, even before we’ve seen it! What judgmental fools we all are. I’d been hopeful about Walter Mitty, but when it finally came out, there was one collective shrug from both critics and friends of friends of friends, and I did the same. Another Martin Scorcese movie with Leonardo DiCaprio seemed like a sure shelling out of $9, but I still haven’t seen Wolf of Wall Street, and I’m not sure I want to, even after the Best Picture nomination. The same thing happened to me with Saving Mr. Banks. Seemed like a promising concept, though I’ve never quite watched Mary Poppins from beginning to end and didn’t feel any particular connection to that movie. I like Tom Hanks, but talk about overexposure, which I also wrote about a few days ago. And I have mixed feelings about the Disney brand. For these and other mostly irrational reasons, the movie quickly lost its luster for me. But yesterday I came across a movie gift card I’d forgotten about and just wanted to see a movie, a near-daily impulse, and said, what the heck, Disney it is. And what a pleasant surprise. (Maybe that’s the key. Lower expectations. Marketers should try this. Instead of the booming trailer guy’s voice, let Woody Allen do the voice-overs. “The movie’s OK. It’s really really OK. Maybe not Ten Commandments OK, but it’ll do in a pinch. If you want to sit for two hours, you might as well sit in front of this picture.”) One of the questions I ask myself: Is this a movie that needs to be seen on a big screen? That was another strike against Saving Mr. Banks because I decided, No. Again, this is before I’d seen it. But the movie is stunningly beautiful. Don’t wait to watch it at home, even if you have 3-D, Hi-Def with 24K gold plated cables. I’m shocked that the movie didn’t get a Best Picture nod or a Best Acting nomination for Emma Thompson, who is remarkable in this.

The movie flashes back and forth seamlessly between Australia 1906 and London / Los Angeles 1961, an ambitious ploy that works extraordinarily well. Thompson’s character, Mrs. Travers, the author of Mary Poppins, wary of a Disney adaptation of her book, is impossible to please, which will have you smiling throughout because Thompson is so good. As the cause of her surliness unfolds, via the flashbacks and Disney’s persistence, the movie comes together powerfully and movingly. This movie should soar to the top of your list for movies to see. Confession. The movie began at 7:10. Wolf of Wall Street began ten minutes earlier, so I poked my head in and was ready to abandon Disneyland for Wall Street if I was drawn in. The first five minutes are pure Scorcese, with the camera swiveling around expertly and the sudden freeze frame with the voice over, but I’d had enough. The main character was doing something with a straw and a woman’s posterior and drugs(?) that I didn’t need to see. It might be blasphemous to suggest this, but I think some of Scorcese’s work is overrated. Slap another director’s name on this current movie and replace DiCaprio with a no-name talent, and no one pays attention to this movie.

What do four guys talk about on the way home from a Chicago Blackhawks game? Among other things, fast food. Nate recalled the times he would be drawn to Taco Bell, McDonald’s, or KFC. We passed a White Castle’s and everyone groaned, only Brian not ever having tried that particular delicacy. Karl insisted he had to try it, to torture himself at least once. As I sat there, I realized I NEVER have a yearning to pull into any of these fast food emporiums. But I do have one weakness. When I was a kid, Mama made her own red gravy, pasta, and bread. If we’d had a cow, she would have milked the cow every day and pasteurized the milk between loads of laundry. So it’s not that she banned fast food. The prospect simply never presented itself. But one time when I was in 7th grade, on an after school field trip I think, the chaperone decided to stop at Burger King, and that’s when I tasted my first Whopper. My mouth still waters when I recall that first delectable bite, the best thing I’d ever eaten, I thought. As anyone who has eaten a Whopper knows, however, the last bite is never quite as good as the first, and that last swallow is always filled with tangy regret. But that initial memory has stayed with me, and every now and then, maybe once a year, I pull into a Burger King drive-thru, unable to tear myself away, lured into reliving the thrill of my first time.

I went to see Her today. It’s a strange and evocative movie that dares you to get sucked in by the premise that a man can have a relationship with a computer. You resist at first, but not for long because the setup is gradual and clever, and Joaquin Phoenix is vulnerable and likeable and you want him to be happy. And Scarlet Johansson’s voice of the operating system is pretty alluring. I’m still not sure what to think of the movie, but I liked it and it got me thinking about how honest we really all are with each other, and even when Phoenix’s character does become more honest because, after all he’s interacting with a computer—why not?—he still fumbles, which spurs your thinking about human nature and grip of the past on us all. It’s quite a lot to think about. And the near future is rendered so realistically, you don’t feel like it’s that far into the future—or that unrealistic. Maybe we’re already there in important ways, always gazing a few feet in front of us at a screen rather than toward each other. About midway, Amy Adams appears, and my first reaction was, Really? I mean, I like Amy Adams. I think she’s talented and cute and convincing. There was a time when people complained that there weren’t enough quality women’s roles in movies. I haven’t kept track, but there seems to be a spate of good movies out there lately with strong female characters. But does Adams have to play them all? Her role in this movie seemed minor at first, but the more screen time she had, the more I had to admit that she was a solid choice, even at the risk of overexposure. At least she chooses good movies to be in. I can list scores of other talented actors who seem to consistently take on roles in horrible movies. Care to offer any names?

I’m not quite sure why this happens. You see a movie, you laugh and cry and your heart throbs a little more insistently while jawing on popcorn. Some change occurs. You leave feeling good and you recommend the movie to friends. Then, time passes, and you begin to feel less enamored of the movie and decide you didn’t enjoy it as much as you first thought. You still recall the immediate enjoyment you had, but the film begins to pale. Some version of the opposite happens, too, of course, though less frequently. Not that I can recall ever being swayed from hating a movie to loving it. But what happens is this: the movie stays with you, it grows on you, you replay some of the scenes as you’re walking down a hallway maybe, taking on the cockiness of one of the characters or feeling his pain. And the movie becomes…better. Any thoughts on why this happens? My daughter recently told me that this just occurred to her with American Hustle, which we saw together and enjoyed. As soon as she said it, I harrumphed in agreement. Or hmmmm-ed. Yes. I felt the same way. For her, she worried that it might beat out 12 Years a Slave for Best Picture Oscar. And that started me thinking. About why our reactions change. Because of other movies we see? Because movies need to spark some primal emotion in us? Because movies need to be more than just entertainment for them to haunt us? (By the way, I want to be haunted, and doubt that a movie like Anchorman will ever achieve that. Now, Caddyshack? A whole different story.) I guess I don’t want to think about this too much. But I would like to hear other theories. For me, I can’t stop thinking about the Coen Brothers’ new movie, Inside Llewyn Davis, which should win Best Picture Oscar but won’t—mostly because people (marketers?) insist on labeling it a comedy, which it ain’t, though there are plenty of light moments. I’d heard the film was about fame, why some achieve it while others are left wanting. And yes, this seems to be the main theme. But the roadblocks that appear on the way to fame are gray. Luck certainly plays some role. But how complicit are we in the process? It’s an intriguing question, and the answers the movie suggests are, well, haunting. And now the music has gotten into my head. Only the music at first. But as I’m listening to the soundtrack on headphones during walks, the lyrics too. And this character Llewyn is real, and I think I have to go see the movie again.

Woody Allen did not show up of course to receive his Cecil B DeMille Award at yesterday’s Golden Globe Award ceremony. I suppose one can view his continued absence at such awards as modesty, stubbornness, indifference, pomposity. But however you regard the behavior, you have to admit, he’s consistent. I mean, it’s a huge honor, and still he didn’t show. Here’s his reasoning, as quoted in the Chicago Tribune on January 12, 2013, which seems like a useful way to view one’s artistic pursuits, whether the product is a song, a book, or a casserole: “I realized the less preoccupied you are with yourself, the better you do. You don’t want to read that you’re a genius, you don’t want to read that you have no talent, you don’t want to read how gifted you are or what a lowlife you are. The best thing is to just work.”

I can’t stop reading Nicholson Baker’s novels, though I hesitate to call them novels. They read like mini-essays that include quiet observations that you might find in a poem. Precise and vivid and peaceful. You feel like you’re sitting on a couch next to the author listening to him spin little yarns of wisdom. In this last one I read, A Box of Matches, the entries are made up entirely of his thoughts each morning as he rises early and approaches the fireplace. No plot. No forward thrust. But always engaging. If you’ve been meaning to read more poetry but can’t force yourself to slow down to do so (because reading poetry is more demanding?), try reading Baker.

Speaking of poetry, here’s another novel full of some of the richest sentences you’ll read anywhere: Alice McDermott’s newest book, Someone. There’s plenty of plot here, but McDermott offers it up in flashbacks and flash-forwards, all handled masterfully. The plot centers around a woman and her family, but the satisfaction in reading this book comes not from finding out what happens next but in sharing this character’s intimate glimpses into what it’s like to live a life. Some of the scenes are joyous and sweet, others are torturous in their specificity, especially one birthing scene that you won’t soon forget. This is easily one of the best books I’ve read in a while.